


closer

by alluran



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Shallura Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-11 11:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7890700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alluran/pseuds/alluran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He holds her, she admits it, he's reunited with her, they make their home, they meet, and he truly comes back to life - the times that guide and pull and yank and throw them...closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. discovery|recovery

**Author's Note:**

> shallura week day one: discovery | recovery  
> time: set after episode 8, but before 9  
> rating: k+/general audiences  
> tw: none  
> tumblr: alluran

It’s a fight and a half to keep the others at bay after they move her into the castle - Lance steps on the back of his heels more than once, Keith silently slides into stride with his shadow to flank their sullen escort, and Pidge ducks between them all in turn to watch Allura from any angle. Shiro swallows back the amused pride in his team as he shifts the princess’ weight in his arms. She makes a hum of exhausted discontent and he has to bite back the instinct to verbally soothe her.

“I can walk, it’s not far.”

Time freezes when she speaks - Lance stumbles (his palm slapping against the back of Shiro’s chest plate to keep himself upright), Keith pulls back in his step (almost stepping on Pidge) and he can hear Pidge and Coran both suck in their breath. His heart doesn’t beat for a moment and he swears his blood stops cold in his veins, but he reigns his decorum back in. 

Shiro sighs and weathers her tired indignation. “Humor us, Allura.”

She doesn’t argue back this time, but he can feel her bleary gaze cutting through him - probably sizing him up, calculating how strong his hold is, how steady his pace his, and whether she would stand the chance of escape in her debilitated state. He won’t admit it or even waver, but she would win. He’s still perfectly blown away by her. He is in awe and the only thing that stays him the upper hand is her distraction when they slowly creep closer and closer to the medbay. Allure freezes in his arms and, this time, doesn’t bother what it must look like to the others when he curls her body toward his and tucks his head forward.

* * *

 

He’s not sure how they all wordlessly agree not to put her back in the cryo-pod, but there’s a wave of relief that washes through her body and the lines in Coran’s forehead ease a little when they pass the wide entryway. Not that he’s not impatient to get her back to herself, but he refuses to do that. He will not place her back in the pod that took 10,000 years away from her and reminded him too much of a coffin.

The idea makes his chest feel tight - too tight - and he loses himself enough to make a shallow gasp in a vain attempt to ease the pressure and fear and panic that she must be feeling too. In comparison, it doesn’t make him feel as nervous as he thought when they turn three more corridors and her chamber doors loom closer and closer and closer. It’s a hallway he doesn’t visit for her privacy and his honor streak that stretches wider than the Milky Way.

As if they don’t know, as if they would never guess it from the ornate doors carved from floor to ceiling in winding, curling, beautiful shapes. As if he didn’t make a mental blue print of everything around him - counting columns and steps and sconces from one of their rooms to the next person’s - and couldn’t possibly account for her location through a wing he has never physically seen. Of course he knows and of course she recognizes he need, he can’t rest without knowing where his teams rests. As if she felt the small hesitation in his step despite all of that, she whispers, _“Here.”_

When the door whooshes open, he’s encompassed in her - perfume that reminds him of wild flowers and something he can’t name, but what he assumes is - was - Altea. It makes him crave for Earth a little more, the scent of laundry detergent, fresh cut grass, or toothpaste, or fall. He’s still unsure of himself in her space, but it’s takes an immediately calming effect on him and he’s almost positive he can feel her fingertips brush over the black expanse of suit over his torso.

His mind floods with flashes of long forgotten fairy tales from his childhood when he lays her on her bed, cradling her head in his hands as he guides her to the pillow. His chest tightens again, but flutters and thrums with something wholly different from his post-trauma. From there, It’s nearly impossible to shuffle Lance and Keith back out of her room and away from her doorway, he almost laughs when they both look like they’ve been slapped as he explains why they can’t stay in the room.

Shiro manages, long enough for Pidge (who, surprisingly, offered) to help Allura change when nothing was being decided between a flustered Coran and himself.

They mutter, “You two are relatively worthless,” and the last thing Shiro sees is the ghost of a smile flitting over Allura’s face before her door shuts.

* * *

 

In a tick that stretches more than an eternity for him, the door finally whisks open with a satisfying hiss of air and his long stride takes him back over her threshold without hesitation this time. He doesn’t say anything about Keith and Lance quietly shuffling at his and Coran’s heels and ignores the leveled stare Pidge is giving him as they finish braiding Allura’s hair over her shoulder. Shiro hears Lance scoff and groans because he knows what’s coming, he had been too silent and observant for too long.

“Hey, maybe you could work Keith’s mullet into some kind of order with those braiding skills, Pidge.”

He relaxes because it’s not about him or trying to make a move on Allura - something he only does make out of habit now, but his quips are growing resourceful and moderately accurate.

Pidge snorts, “Not likely, someone had to step up and help her while Shiro and Coran blushed and babbled about propriety and you definitely were not going to be in here. And I did it because I happen to actually like her.” They ignore the strangled choke Lance gives in response and move from her bedside toward the door, elbowing Lance in the side as they pass. “C’mon guys.”

Lance thwacks his hand against Keith’s chest plate and gestures his head to the door. “You heard ‘em, get moving.”

“Pidge meant the both of us, moron.”

Shiro’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth to chide his team when, luckily, Coran herds them (technically, drags Lance by an ear) away toward her door. The last thing he needs is her shifting consciousness just waking enough to overhear another poorly timed joke from Lance.

Especially when he catches the blue paladin look from him to Allura and the way his eyebrows raise suggestively. “I see, Shiro’s- eeOW! Coran!!”

Shiro almost laughs as Lance’s remark is interrupted by Coran stepping on the teen’s foot with a sly smile and a, _“Whoops, sorry there, lad.”_

The elder Altean moves forward to remind them that their teammate is still on the ground with the Balmerans - Shiro thinks of countless large, yellow eyes unable to look anywhere but up and the paladin that struck the match of hope in their hearts. All but burning and going up like a brush fire when the princess fixed it from hope to destiny. The young girl that held her, eyes on the stars and whispering, _“Thank you, princess.”_

He’s never met someone so adapt at frequently making her place within a person’s heart. If Lance could stop teasing Pidge or antagonizing Keith long enough to notice it, everyone else probably saw it eons ago. It’s not something he does - shares the intricacies of his heart and head - since it’s a darker place these days - but he doesn’t hate it. He isn’t horrendously embarrassed or shamed, because it a worse fate was if she couldn’t see or didn’t want to. The scar on his nose twitches, pulling him from his thoughts in time to hear the latter part of Coran’s words to the paladins.

“Perhaps, you should all make yourselves useful while the tick is still young.” Lance groans in earnest, but Coran doesn’t say anything as he leads the pack from the doorway, their footsteps fading back down the hall. He doesn’t have to say that they wouldn’t be of any help moping around in the castle or that there’s already one paladin more than capable of the job.

The truth of it hangs in the air as their voices move farther down the hall and he takes his spot in the chair a few feet from her bed. He does what he wants, whether or not he’ll actually be useful at her bedside.

And right now, he’s still trying to catch the breath she stole from him.

* * *

 

Maybe being assigned as the Black paladin has finally gone to his head, but nothing and no one will remove him from her side, where he belongs. He makes a poor attempt at convincing himself it’s some physic suggestion from his lion, passed from Allura’s life force to his lion to _his_ life force.

Once she wakes, he wants to remind her that she has her limitations too, although he’s not so sure anymore what sort of plane they land on. Lost to where they start and where they end and all of the possibilities and statistics and probabilities she would disprove at just a bat of an eye. She cannot be contained. It’s a _discovery_ to them all that it’s possible for an Altean to wholly heal a Balmera on their own - never mind one her age, which is considerably young for the race, and on their first time. Coran is awful at hiding his fear and awe in Allura’s victory and because of it, Shiro stations himself here so he has some chance of making a poised lecture before she comes to enough to tell him he and Coran were being overzealous, ridiculous worriers or that they were _not_ the boss of her - _quiznak_ , she’s the Princess (technically, queen) and she’s been battling on this frontier long before Shiro’s time.

Monitoring four rowdy teenagers that often became restless among each other, with usually reckless intent on Lance or Pidge’s part, was nothing compared to her.

The thought pulls a harried sigh from him.

“I can hear you overthinking _again_ , paladin.” Her voice is groggy as she peeks one eye open lazily, the faint gleam of amusement lighting her iris.

He has to stop himself from jolting out of his chair on some magnetic path that pulls and pulls and pulls him until he’s close enough to take her hand in his. His head and heart buzz with the imagined phantom weight in his palm. Instead, he brusquely crosses his arms to dispel the feeling. Chasing away the thought quick enough. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

Her eyes close and he breathes a small sigh of relief, hoping maybe it is her conceding and he would have a few more hours to get his head together.

“And you, Shiro?”

Of course not.

He bites the inside of his cheek, bypassing the urge to remind her that he wasn’t the one that just revitalized an entire living bein the size of a planet. “I’m resting in this chair.”

She chuckles, “ _That_ sounds like something Keith would say.” Her breath hitches and her face pinches for the quickest tick, but before he can check himself, he’s actually at her side and daringly pressing his palm to her forehead.

Already halfway to brushing her hair away from her face.

His jerks his Galran hand away from her skin as if burned. A sick feeling crests inside him and teeters on a precipice that may take him over with the thought that he dares touch her not out of necessity, but his own desires and with the very link to the empire that took her and Coran’s _entire_ world from them. He takes a deep breath, rattling like a chill in his chest. Shiro roughly runs his hand through his hair, the white tuft falling back over his eyes immediately after. His fingers shake. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh Shiro, there is nothing to forgive.” Her voice is croaky now and her eyes flutter rapidly as she forces herself to stay awake a moment longer.

The weight of the entire galaxy is stuck in his throat.

Allura works a hand out from under the blankets and takes his artificial hand in hers. It’s hard for him to feel any sensations with it - heat or cold or pain. Shiro never thought he’d miss the tingling buzz that would overtake his limb whenever it fell asleep, yet he aches for it. As her thumb brushes over the back of his hand, long fingers curling over his to press into the cool palm of metal, something happens.

He’s afraid to let his mind work it out for the possibility that it may just be his mind recalling what he’s supposed to be feeling in his hand when someone touches it. He closes his eyes and lets the warmth wash over him. It pulses where her fingertips meet his and winds up his arm and eases the muscles in his bicep where metal meets flesh. Shiro takes a deep breath, cautiously flexing his fingers to cradle hers. He thinks this must have been what the Balmera felt as her engery and kindness and care spread through its hallowed caves and empty shells to beat determinedly to its core, bringing it to revival.

Even if it’s just sensory figments of imagination, Shiro takes it - immerses himself in it - greedily.

He squeezes her hand and lays it gently back at her side, as much as it pains him to when the warmth is quickly overcoming by steely cold he thought he’d never be able to shake. As much as he wants to fall into her and let her card her fingers through his hair and brushing down over his brow to ghost her calloused finger tip over the jagged and rough skin of his scar. He swallows. “You’re supposed to be in _recovery_ , Allura.”

She relaxes her head deeper into her pillow, the sharp lines of stress and worry easing from her features. “And you.” It wasn’t a question or a statement and it hits him in a way that makes his heart skip once or twice. Utterly exhausted and weak, she still has the strength to order him by regal decree as crown princess of Altea and guardian - leader - of the lions of Voltron. An air of command that charges the beat of silence beat them in challenge. Her chest heaves with an effort and her eyelids close, only to not open this time. “Are you to stay, Shiro?”

“Yes.” His voice sounds odd to him, he’ll chalk it up to the aftermath as the rush of adrenaline recedes in his body.

She hums, the sound light and happy as she drifts back into sleep and a peace that feels startlingly unfamiliar and overwhelming blooms in his chest.


	2. duty|sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first time she admits it - alternatively: don't be proud, it's okay you're in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: coran and allura centric. coran is just trying his Best, unfortunately, Allura is her mother made over and Not Having It. idk I also make guesses at time lines and everything is painful with really obvious symbolism so.

At night, they huddled around an old lamp at an old table in a room that was the first to be furnished and finished. In an unspoken agreement she sat in the chair facing away from the grand portrait painted 10,125 years ago and his was across from her - looking to it with admiration and love and the shadow of loss and grief. It had been that way the moment they had fallen from their tombs of cryostasis and learned of what happened to the universe and she was still in awe of him for facing everything so outright, even if a little jealous too.  
  
Coran was far more brave than she - no matter what he or anyone else said.   
  
He fell from the advising side of one Altean monarch to the other in a twisted form of inheritance that made guilt bubble in her stomach with memories of a conversation that had taken place two weeks before Altea’s fall, promises and a happiness that lapsed more than three lifetimes ago. When she was to ascend, he would retire ( _“Someone’s got to keep Alfor out of your hair long enough for you to properly rule.”_ ) the moment of her coronation and she would be allowed to choose her own advisor.  
  
The idea had excited her, but now…She would be lost without him.  
  
Without the library where relics of that past laid haphazardly on table tops and between books and on chairs.  
  
He was brilliant and she loved him tremendously, but….“I’m not saying I’m going to be _happy_ about it.” Coran’s brows drew together, his exasperated look shifting to sadness - her heart lurched at the possibility it may have been disappointment too. She jutted her chin, making her final word. “I will go on, our team must push forward and become stronger. I will not disrupt that with something so trivial.”  
  
 _“Allura.”_ The advisor scrubbed a hand over his weathered face, the dim lighting making him look millenniums older. “ _That’s_ hardly trivial. I must insist-“  
  
She swallowed, sharply folding her arms in front of her. “This isn’t something I need your permission on, Coran. My decision is final.”  
  
Coran chuckled, shaking his head and sadly flicking his gaze up to the mural behind her. “You sound just like your mother.”  
  
Her throat tightened. “Please, Coran. _Don’t._ ”  
  
“No, seriously. She said the exact words, in the exact tone - although she added a few extra….verbs that I’m going to pretend you don’t know and would never use in my presence.” He lowered his cup, an eyebrow raised comically high.  
  
She sucked in a breath and looked away from him, shaking her head toward the far side of the room. “Am I speaking only to hear my own voice? If we’re playing that card, you’re being an awful _lot_ like my father in driving me out of my senses. And stop trying to be funny, this is a serious conversation - one that you felt the need to instigate, if we’re keeping tally.”  
  
“Aye.” His studious gaze swept over her, she immediately straightened in her seat and methodically checked the placement of her hands and the tilt of her chin to be sure he didn’t surmise hidden thoughts or signs he deemed were there (it was a rather poor attempt to bluff.) “She and your father weren’t what their parents wouldn’t have been _their_ parents’ first choices, but neither of them were hearing any of it. Your father sought out the most peaceful road, where your mother promised unrest nothing short of all out war. She was very polite about it to and unless you knew the intricacies of her speeches and turn of phrase, you never would have known she had taken an unmovable stand against you. An impeccable combination for kings and queens, if you ask me.” He swallowed and drank slowly from his cup. “I understand that this is very different-“  
  
“Coran, this isn’t merely two young adults being mildly rebellious during an era of peace and prosperity. _We’re_ the only ones left of Altea, this castle the only thing left of its people. _He_ is a prisoner of war still trying to fix his place back in reality and calling _this_ ,” Allura wildly gestured into the room, “Merely different is a gross miscalculation. He needs time to grasp this situation they’ve suddenly been tossed into that bypasses every molecule of sense and reason they were taught to use. He needs time to _heal_.”  
  
“Your quintessence is infinitesimal in comparison to only one other thing, Allura.”   
  
“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?” She tugged her robe tighter around her and sighed. “I cannot stray from our paths when it could very well be just a side effect of the lions being tied to me, I feel _all_ of their stories - their pain and happiness, grief and victory - I care for them all deeply. He is their leader and of course I would frequently look to him for cues on how to approach and help the others. We are alike in mind, it’s just being tenderly revered in one another.”  
  
His breath deflated him further, grief pulling at the corners of his mouth and darkening the spark in his eyes. “Dear, if he is the head, the others Voltron’s legs and arms, what are you?”  
  
Her chin quivered. “A heart that hardly knows him.”  She set her cup down and swiped her hand under her eyes. “I hate it when you’re like this, you know.”  
  
“It’s all part and parcel of the wizened, elder Altean, dear. We’re a tough bunch with a lot more stubbornness than you younger people.” Coran smiled endearingly at her, winking.   
  
“Are you going to tell me when you were my age, the castle didn’t even have healing pods or something?,” Allura scoffed.  
  
“Hm. it was a real nightmare, appreciate your tech.” He cleared his throat again and leaned forward, taking her hand in his. “Forming Voltron takes a strong bond and trust with all of its parts, starting with you and Shiro. I understand that it’s hard and, believe it or not, I even know why you’re firmly digging your heals into the ground the way you are. You don’t have to tell him everything, I’m not proposing an engagement, just - if anything, Allura - let him know that yo-“  
  
A broken yell struck through the halls, reverberating and cracking against the metal columns and followed up by sobs, gasping breaths. She startled violently in her seat, nearly ripping her hand form Coran’s only from shivering. Her stomach twisted. She was torn looking between Coran and the door.   
  
If she fled, would that mean conceding? Confirmation on just how right he was?   
  
Allura bit her lip and fought the new tears welling at her eyes.  
  
 _“Allura.”_ Coran squeezed her hand once, urgently, before letting it go and nodding his head toward the door. “Go to him.”


	3. distance|journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first time he's reunited with her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: you know that scene in deathly hallows where bellatrix throws her knife and how that’s basically what Haggar did with her curse?  
> rating: PG/T  
> word count: 3210, officially the longest prompt  
> tw: this one’s sort of intense? There’s mentions/descriptions of panic, headaches, nausea, disillusionment, etc.

His mouth feels like cotton.  
  
They were so close. _So close._   
  
And in a split second, they _weren’t_ and this time he has no idea when or where she lands and how he will find her again. There’s four kids scattering across the universe without a clue of what to do and they’re alone and who knows if they were flung to anywhere inhabitable or if their lions would be able to sustain them for any extended length of time. He shakes and forces himself to swallow and steady his breathing before he clicks the button for opening communication.  
  
 _“The black lion’s down for the moment. If you guys can here this - reserve your energy and any power that remains in your lions. Try to give a status report if you can. We will find each other. Hang in there. Shiro, out.”_  
  
Soft static answers him.  
  
He goes to say more - a vain attempt to copy one of Allura’s rallying speeches, but something presses into his throat and he has to shut the comm link.  
  
Shiro snaps his head against the back of his seat and yells loud enough to rattle his chest and sickly slap against the metal of the cock pit. His voice goes hoarse when he yells again and his throat burns with anger and loss. He had been _so close_ \- his team torn from him just as quickly as they entered, sending his mind reeling and the reunion he wishes wasn’t needed, but desperately _needs_.  
  
Before they were ripped to different corners of the universe by Haggar’s curse, he hears Keith struggling to get the words out that he can’t hang on anymore before he’s sucked from the hangar - Pidge stutters over his name and Hunk tries to get the words out that everything was going to be okay. Keith swears over the comm link before his system snaps out of range and Lance is demanding coordinates and his status in a rapid fire mixture of English and Spanish. Shiro doubts he realizes that he was even doing it.  
  
The last thing he hears before everything goes frighteningly silent is _her_ voice breaking over their names.  
  
If watching her smile of relief as Galra sentries closed in on her after she flings him back on the pod to take him to the castle uninjured hurt, then he didn’t have words for _this_. Part of him is hollow and missing and all of his fear coils and stabs in his stomach because they _had made it_ \- they found her and got her out while there was still light and hope and love in her eyes and he knew the sentries hadn’t the chance to _touch_ her. None of it was easy, he knew it wouldn’t be, and he hated they had to retreat but if it meant seeing her - being at her side - then his pride could get over it. He shudders and the black lion keens in his head, the insistent search for the warmth of her bond with the princess cool and lost and fading as time ticks by.  
  
Ten thousand years of quiet slumber without her press in on his heart and he slams his fist on the arm rest and knocks his head against the back of his seat, sick that the universe forcefully made him break his promise to himself.  
  
The lights dim more and he searches for what passes as the horizon in deep space for anything.  
  
No, not _anything_.  
  
It’s for the swirling pools of cosmos to streak white light through the glittering darkness, the castle cracking and splitting the sky and her coming for him. For her voice to crackle in his headset. For his lion to make her victory lap back into the hangar and spill him out with as much caring grace as possible to send him sprinting through the castle’s long, winding walls.  
  
For her to be _there_.  
  
For her to be at his fingertips and cursing a mean streak against Haggar.  
  
He thinks about holding her - breaking another, less important promise to himself that he would stay professional - and carefully holding her jaw in his calloused hands and pressing his forehead to hers until they’re both sure that the other is truly there and ultimately going to be okay. Whole and safe and just a little shaken up and grasping at armor until he’s not sure where his arms end and hers begin. He wants to know what it feels like when her markings light up beneath the rough pads of his fingers, to tuck the wisps of hairs falling from her bun behind her ears and pull her back in again until his face cradles in the crook of her neck and he’s enveloped by everything that is her.  
  
To pull away enough for her to find the same refuge in him if she wants it.  
  
The black lion rumbles and everything goes black.

* * *

Shiro wakes with her name raw on his tongue and rasped.  
  
His throat is dry and he reaches for the first of the limited rations in his lion, capping the urge to take long pulls from the water container. There’s a headache pricking nasty and merciless at his temple, burns his stomach as a wave of nausea constricts at his throat. Shiro breathes.  
  
Deep.  
  
In.  
  
And out.  
  
One, two….Three.  
  
He opens the comm link.  
  
 _“If anyone can hear me, stay safe. Do not engage.”_  
  
It’s one of the few times he remembers more than just fragments of the things that chase after him at night. The ghost of her smile replaying over and over and over again as the doors to his pod shut and still no way to override it. He’s not one for delving into false imaginings that rewrite history, but his chest loosens a little when he thinks about overriding the pod’s destination.   
  
_The doors open just in time for him to jump back to her. He tears their hands off of her and his Galra hand strikes true through each of their chests, frying their circuits with abandon. Allura fights pressed to his back, sending her heel into mechanical skulls and all but roaring Altean threats to their enemies dropping to the floor at an exceptional rate. A satisfying flood of adrenaline pushes him forward and suddenly the fight is nothing - it could be just a normal day on the training deck for all he carried and unfortunately for the Galra, their guard dogs have nothing on the training sequence programmed into the castle._  
  
 _Allura breaks from a one-sided conversation with a particularly nasty century to seethe coordinates and commands to Coran and he just barely catches an, “Aye, princess.,” from her earrings that curls with promises of epic proportions and he’s thrown to the reality that advisor was only half of who Coran was. He can actually feel a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up as his eyes sweep over their defeated foe._  
  
 _A broken sentry turns its twisted heard toward him and leers. A croaky, vile voice echoing sickly against its helmet and taunts the darkened corners of Shiro’s mind - he speaks like he’s already returned to the palace, like he’s on his way. He shouldn’t feed hungry kids with false hope that he can’t deliver on. Allura won’t find him. Allura won’t want to find him. She’ll search out a new paladin to lead Voltron. Or she’ll give up on the project completely, she’s far more capable of fighting without him dragging, dragging, dragging her down. A broken man that’s been ravaged by the Galra, rising up in the putrid ranks of their druids’ games - the Champion._  
  
 _How could someone like him ever be allowed to defend the universe?_  
  
 _Shiro feels his skin go hot and cold, sticky with trails of sweat beading down his nose and temples. His breathing stops, he can’t pull out of it or find a way to silence the sentry for good. He’s frozen, his heart hammering up his throat and the fringes of his sight go black. He’s drowning in a black pool, Sendak standing over him and laughing and Haggar taunting him between chants that form an electric ball of magic between her hands. Farther behind them Zarkon looms in the distance, smiling with all of the lions sitting behind him._  
  
A roar rattles his ribcage and splits his head - his vision goes goes white, scattering his thoughts and forcing the oozing voice back farther and farther from the forefront of his mind.  
  
 _He’s back to her hangar, standing in awe as the doors open to reveal the black lion to him once more. Her eyes shine, piercing as she looms toward the ground. Her voice rumbles in his heart, his fingers tingle and everything goes warm._   
  
_She is coming. Be ready. Do not submit to defeat, my paladin._  
  
Shiro gasps and pries his eyes open, staring unseeing into the voice of space. His breathing is so labored, it physically it hurts. His fingers have a death grip on the arm rests and sweat slicks his brow, but he manages a shaky smile. Shiro rests his head back, his laugh more of a short huff than anything. “Thank you.”  
  
A vexed, affectionate tug spreads over him.

* * *

There’s no telling how long it’s been, whatever passes for a horizon here doesn’t break with the rise and fall of moons or suns. Which makes it increasingly harder to calculate how to wisely divide his rations between days and keep a mental record of whether or not he’s eating in the same day. By sheer, dumb luck, he finds a tick calculator Coran had given them to properly sync their times of attack and that still works.  
  
With nothing to do but gaze out his dashboard, he searches. No emissions from transport dust the sky - a good thing or a bad thing depending on how he looks at it. Shiro takes it gratefully though, even if the quiet is disconcerting and means he’s probably been spun into an abandoned system or one that hasn’t been treaded at all yet. A small part of him - a part he thought he would never get back after his capture by the Galra - finds wonder and enchantment and an entire string of other waxing, glittering words in the galaxies once more. The feeling that had him securing glow-in-the-dark stars onto his bedroom ceiling and begging for his first telescope when he was ten and then, for the second at 16. The factor that had his entire existence rocketing for the far reaches of space for as long as he could remember.   
  
And it’s not wholly this place - no, because there’s no way he would have enjoyed this after escaping. His mind would still be panicked, frantic, and hurt.  
  
It’s not and he knows why.  
  
If they find each other again - the astronomical chance of them meeting in the first place secures a hope that a second time is more likely than not - he’s going to make sure she knows the blinding, all encompassing gratitude that vibrates nearly every cell in his body. His team will know too, glad that he happened upon the group most likely down to breaking the law in every way they could and driving him insane simultaneously.  
  
For a moment, the unwavering quiet is a comfort and he’s entranced by zero g again.   
  
He opens the comm link. _“We have a ways to go yet, team. I don’t know about you, but no witch or Galra is going to stop me from finishing our mission. Giving up is for rookies, right?”_

* * *

There’s still no word and his sense of direction, analytics, _everything_ begins to ebb farther and farther and farther away from him. He’s stuck on some pocketed Betelgeuse-sized rock in the middle of a star system he has zero data on. Anything the lion could get would just take power from her in the end - especially if something decided to attack. She may have been grounded, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice the rest of her backup power source for the sake of answers that wouldn’t change his situation in least - he’d still be stuck and dreaming of a castle and open blue skies.  
  
Shiro restlessly leans back, resting his head back to let the cool metal of his chair press into his scalp.  
  
He’s not going to open the comm link.  
  
What he has to say to her - it would only be for her and he still has no idea how she does that. Even if he hasn’t gotten so much as a blip of activity, no poorly timed joke from Lance as his video feed takes up the majority of his dashboard or Hunk interrupting, snatching a fourth of the screen for himself, with engine stats and linking coordinates for everyone. No snark from Pidge and Keith. No Coran chirping on about mechanisms….Even if none of it is happening, he can’t afford the risk.  
  
No matter how insistent the thought burns at the back of his throat.  
  
Even if it means months more out in the void of isolation he’s fighting not to drown in. He’s been through worse and come back swinging and if he has any power in keeping those kids as kids for as long as possible, then he’d rather remain lost. Even if a small part of him visualizes flashes of Keith and Pidge with the news that he won’t be making another miraculous return and delves into the growing friendship he began with Lance and Hunk - even if the prior was powered more by sheer chagrin than anything. He thinks about dinners at long, narrow tables that have galactic goo dried in the cracks of his armor - watching ties tether strongly as Keith is absorbed into the wayward group of the Garrison’s (Best) Worst Team Ever.  
  
 _“That’s not something to be proud of, Lance.”_  
  
 _“You dropped out and accepted an automatic fail. Welcome to the club.”_  
  
 _“It’s best you don’t fight it. And, hey, he has to sleep eventually - which means 8-9+ hours of quiet.”_  
  
 _“Okay, but forget the Garrison flunk squad, we’re **Voltron** , guys. The Garrison’s got nothing on giant robots that chose **us** to fly them and defend the universe.”_  
  
His brow furrows and he whispers quietly, “Find our team first, Allura.”

* * *

He’s halfway between dreaming and awake˙ when the galaxy is torn and split, the black lion groaning as it’s knocked on its sides from the force of what is probably the sound barrier _breaking_ , snapping.  
  
Red light floods the cockpit, warnings chirping and sirens blaring as he’s steeped in panic. For a moment, he thinks about Richter scales and highest grounds before it settles and something is spearing, arcing and racing toward his lion at a speed that makes him dizzy to watch. His thoughts try to keep up and fail and the only thing that pulls him from the brink of fear is his dashboard going completely white and the communicator link in his helmet screaming static fuzz into his eardrums. His ears ring as someone calls out-  
  
 _“Shiro!”_  
  
Her face takes up his dash, wisps of hair fan at her cheeks, falling away from her bun, and her eyes are lit with a fire he’s not yet seen. He catches himself in fear and revere at her storm yet to ever be contained - a soldier that has _journeyed_ ruthlessly through three battlefields with no end in sight, the marks under her eyes painted white with the magnitude and radiance of her emotions. Her cheeks are flushed and he finds himself raising from his seat to stand at her attention. Shiro sucks in a breath as relief swirls and brightens in her eyes as she watches him stand without effort.  
  
 _“Is the black lion capable of movement?”_  
  
“Yes,” he breathes. Shiro almost can’t believe it, seeing her here - whole with the castle in tact - and tears prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s too easy and he’s perfectly content to stay standing there dumbstruck trying to work through his head whether it may be a convoluted illusion. She has other plans.  
  
 _“Then do so, **now**.”_  
  
He smiles, the pain of a parched throat forgotten as his lion roars and charges. Shiro falls back hard into his seat as the lion and the castle careen toward each other and he is gloriously swallowed into the dark chamber of his hangar. The black lion’s paws screeching and digging in against the floor - daring another force to tear it away from home once more. He can’t look away though, since she doesn’t bother to shut down the video feed. There’s only a curtain of her hair billowing around her as she makes for the doorway and he’s entranced with the movement and dangerous power she exudes.  
  
 _“Coran, take over the controls.”_  
  
He’s left more or less glued in his spot with sheer awe of the chaos she rains down in her wake. Somehow - either from the disappearance of her figure or Coran beaming into the feed with a, _“Welcome back, paladin. I’d get moving from that lion of yours, if I were you.,”_ before it goes black or both - he’s tripping over his boots to get up and his world tilts and goes completely upside down as he’s being tossed head over heels from the mouth of his lion and stumbling into her strong arms.  
  
Allura’s hands are a blur of movement over his suit, knocking against the armor and then, sliding over the expanse of black at his sides. He startles and flinches from her spot when she finds a particularly sensitive knot near his ribcage. Her eyes dart to his, searching and worried and brighter than he ever remembers them being. “Are you injured?”  
  
Shiro shakes his head, his hand raising to brush her cheek. Because he’s here and she’s _right there_ and emotion threatens to break over him like the wave of a tsunami. “No, it’s only bruises. I-!”  
  
But before he can make do on any of his own wishes, without preamble, Allura yanks his helmet off his head - throwing it against the floor with enough force to have it bounce once and then, roll away - and binds him in a bone crushing embrace when one arm wraps around his shoulders. Her free hand scratches at the back of his head vainly trying to grasp the shorn strands in her fingers. In an idle thought, he thinks he’ll have to consider growing it back out enough for her to be able to find the purchase she’s seeking. They’re so close that when their embrace jolts, he’s not sure who’s body is the one that shakes. Her words of Altean jumble and jump over a flustered tongue, the preen of a lion rumbles in his chest, and he’s vaguely aware of shifting, moving to where her weight slants into his and her feet raise from the floor.

* * *

*“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.” - J.M. Barrie


	4. sky|fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first time they meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> important: shallura fancy banter and trilingual shiro aaaayyyyeeeee  
> rating: k+/general audiences (it's only kissing)  
> warning: none  
> word count: 2484

The sun was warm on her face.

Wind whipped the intricate, long braids of her hair around her shoulders, freeing shorter strands despite her best efforts and her mother’s lament. It brushed the tall stalks of flowers and grass teasingly along her palms as she held her arms out - magic and wonder charged Altea’s air, just like in her fantasy. How she wished she could only just slide out of her shoes and run through the fields of Altea like she did as a child. Of all the locations her father could have chosen for them, it had to be the one place her attention never stayed in one spot, snapping endlessly along the horizon as sky creatures cawed in the distance as their wings arced and turned on the wind current.

Alfor was brilliant, she knew, a guardian of peace and finding its elusive and most places as a wave of it slunk from the tips of her ears to her feet. “Daughter.”

She hummed as the King’s familiar timbre pulled her from her thoughts. “You’ve always had a knack for catching me just in time, don’t you?” Allura turned in her spot, smiling as she tilted her head to see her father watching her with blinding endearment and her mother proudly standing tall at his side, winking at her daughter.

“Allura, the dreamer.” The laugh lines around his eyes and mouth had done little to show his true age and she found comfort in them. Some secret amusement passed in his eyes as he spoke. “I would like you to meet the black paladin.”

Her mother’s voice curled with the wind. “Be great, my dear.” The queen stepped aside with her husband to reveal a tall figure across the field - the proud blue of his cape snapping handsomely in the breeze. Shoulders strong and broad, stance sure and easy, he waited for her, just beyond her immediate reach. Centuries of waiting - waiting for planet’s scientific advancement, waiting for them to be born and to come of age, waiting for them to find their lions - was done.

A smile tugged at her face as she moved forward, shoulders back, chin up. “Of course.”

For the first time in her life, she found herself pinned by the most piercing eyes she had ever seen; they were dark, that much she was sure of. They were kind and deep within her heart she felt the powerful vibration of the black lion’s roar. This was indeed the lion’s paladin her dreams and their peoples’ stories had told of, an alien race come to guide the lions as they never had before and their leader come like a thief in the night, the hope of the galaxies as they stood together. They would charge into battle with a ferocity that put their predecessors to shame and it _thrilled_ her, they would turn history on its head.

She wanted desperately to run into his arms, to smooth back the wild tuft of dark hair that hung in his eyes and whisper quietly in his ear-

_“There you are.”_

She gasped, as the words tried to work themselves from her throat as her very _being_ was called to his.

It was a miracle she made it through the ten ticks it took to close the distance between them and it’s not until he jerks to a stop - _inches from her hand_ \- that she realized he had met her halfway. An impatient buzz lit her senses, it was all she could do to make her laugh reserved when her heart pounded and demanded for something more unrestrained and wild - just as her reign would one day be. He bowed low to her and she returned the movement. Instead of standing as she did, he lowered to one knee, the crest of her house emblazoned on his chest plate catching the light of the sun.

Could she fall to him? Press him happily into the fields and point to the sky and wash him in the magic of the world that was now half his?

The wind tugged at the vibrant blue cape secured over his shoulder and his eyes didn’t falter as he met hers. “Princess.”

Her heart caught, his voice was familiar and smooth. Allura formally offered her hand to him, giving him a conspiring look as a playful glint flashed in his eyes, and once his large hand had curled around hers, she squeezed it. “You have come to us from a great distance, paladin. You and your team must be weary. Please, rise.”

The man stood and her heart stuttered once more as his height overtook her own and he smiled down to her, her hand still in his. The glimmer of her rings reflecting in the high sun played colors along their faces, flashing blues and yellows over the markings under her eyes and purples along his trim nose. “My team _graciously_ decided to give us this time so they could rest, it was a long drive.”

She stopped short, quirking a brow as she rolled the word over her tongue. “ _Drive_?”

He chuckled, his eyes closing and his shoulders shaking. “It’s an expression of speech back on Earth.” He opened his eyes and smiled, bashfully. “But, I wasn’t so tired to delay an audience with you.”

Allura dipped her head and let the corner of her mouth tick up. “I consider myself _very_ flattered then. What is your name, warrior?”

“Takashi Shirogane, but I go by Shiro.” His hand let go of hers, sliding up her arm to wrap around her elbow.

_Equals._

She immediately returned the gesture, securing her own hand around the muscle of his right forearm. The fire of adventure burned in her veins. “Then I will be only Allura.”

“I know the last thing you are is _only_.” His eyes flicked over her features, carefully - almost hesitatingly - ghosting his thumb over the crook of her elbow. A blush warmed Shiro’s cheeks and she had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing and then, quietly gasping when he finally tested her name on his tongue _“Allura.”_

Her heart sang with the odd accent of his speech adjusting to her name - all but seized when he earnestly stumbled over a broken tangle of Altean, English, and another language she didn’t recognize. His eyes unabashedly worked to take her in now and she recognized the effort of memory to form in them as Shiro’s hand slid back down her arm to squeeze her hand.

A sight she must have been to commit to memory - hair wind blown and snapping around her face and flowers and grass tangled in the hem of her skirt and the marks under her eyes glowing and shining in pulses; yet, he looked at her as if she were the perfect picture of elegancy and form and command in Altea’s future queen. At that moment - his words became flummoxed and his cheeks tinted further against his pale skin and his irises grew impossibly large as if she may vanish if he looked away for even a moment.

She ventured to guess he had maybe dreamt of her too.

_Forget their rules._

It was all she needed for the last of her propriety to snap (she knew it would, she was unabashed with her impulses and every molecule of her being was calling out to him, yanking her to him, unsatisfied until regulation of status and fraternization were unwritten). Her hand moved to his jaw, meeting him in a clash of colors and the scent of wild flowers blooming overwhelmingly in her senses. Allura tilted her head, moved her arms to wind around his neck to bush her fingers over the back of his neck and _pulled_ him forward. She tasted his laughter as strong arms moved around her waist, reaching up to circle the warm fingers of his glove between her should blades. Allura pushed closer to him, curious to see if they could fuse as one unyielding being as his mouth slanted over hers.

Everything around her faded away then, the rolling fields of her home, the wide, open sky, her father’s laughter, and the twittering of sky creatures, but the wind crashed like waves in her ears as he whispered her name over and over again.

The far reaches of the galaxy had brought him home and whole to her. Her heart tripped and fell and molded with his when he dropped his hold to her waist and hoisted her up. Her feet left the ground - not something she ever dreamed could happen with her height, but so it does - and she pulled away only long enough to throw her head back to take a gasping breath before her laughter lilted and carried and swirled with the sky creature song on the clouds as he lowered her back down. Allura’s fingers slid over the silken material of his cape and over the cool, curved metal of his chest plate, holding him tightly.

Shiro’s hands found her cheeks, his gloves gone for calloused, pale skin to rest against her markings and colored cheeks. His wide palm cradled her cheek, she hummed and leaned in it, her own coming up to lay over his. He kissed her brow and nose and the corner of her mouth and the curve of her jaw, his smile pressed to the slim column of her neck. Allura nudged her nose against his hair to gain his attention, his eyes lit with a spark that soared her among the millions of galaxies when he looked back to her. Her grin split her face.

“There you are, my heart.”

And pressed her mouth to his again. The field disappeared from beneath their boots to be replaced with a cool, stretching floor and tall ceilings arcing over them as the Castle of Lions tucked them away and the darkened halls cradled them closer and closer and closer together. The warm callouses of his fingers ghosted over the markings that glowed in the darkness. As tight as she could, she wound her arms around his shoulders with his armor gone. One of his hands held tight around her waist and the other gently cradled the back of her head as she muffled her laughter into the crook of his neck - everything going dark and warm and perfect.

A chorus of roars filled her ears.

* * *

She gasped, the feeling harsh against her hoarse throat. Allura frantically reached her hand over the cool sheets, grasping for answers and him - only faintly aware of skittering, fearful footsteps tearing across her bed and across the floor when she rocketed forward from her pillows. Her eyes aren't adjusted to the darkness, but her searching, empty fingers told her she was just as alone as she was when she retired to bed.

Her mother had not lived.

Her father was still gone.

Altea was indeed destroyed.

And her skin was hauntingly cold. No fire lit from the rough pads of his fingertips. No strength in his arms coiled around her. No worn shirt for her to find purchase in - no familiar armor to push out of her way, making her discovery all the more sweet. His breath not ghosting the shell of her ear when he laughed or chanted her name or challenged the universe to have as many stars in its sky as much as he loved her. No overwhelming happiness bursting in her chest or striking lightning through her veins.

She couldn’t scramble from the smothering cocoon of her blankets fast enough and so, Allura yelled out - his name broken by a violent sob. It took all of her strength - that began waning when her panic slammed into her - to fight her way free, stumbling and careening for the lock pad at her door. Her hand smacked against the unyielding metal. The icy floor bit into her toes and heels, her footsteps slapped harshly against the metal as she ran as fast as she could.

_“Shiro!”_

Her voice broke over the chant of his name.

She refused to stop, if she kept yelling and forcing her voice to go farther - louder - he would hear her wherever he was in the vast galaxy. He would come to her. Nothing would stop that.

Footsteps chased her, but instead of the familiar voice of her advisor carefully swaddling her name like he did when she was young and afraid and settled her nerves, it spiked her fear. If she hesitated for even a moment the hall would grow and grow and grow and fall way until there was no bridge to meet him on.

But the _swoosh_ of a door met her ears and light spilled into the hallway past his broad frame.

_“ **Shiro!** I keep seeing them, I see you. I see you.”_

She almost didn’t believe it when her arms snaked past his and clutched the back of his damp t-shirt. Allura shook with fear as she pressed her face into his shoulder and thought for a moment that this was where she would actually wake, locked in a cryostasis that ebbed enough for her conscious to come but still paralyzed her body, without him.

Without any of them.

He violently startled in her hold before his hands jumped to her shoulders. “Allura, I can’t - what are you saying?”

She reeled back, frantically searching his confused face and the panic lighting his eyes. She had been speaking Altean. She pressed her forehead to the warm cotton of his t-shirt, shuddering.

“I’m _so_ sorry.”

Cautiously, his hands wrapped loosely around her shoulders. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She almost cried out when he moved to gently nudge her back, meeting her gaze with surety as the shadows disappeared from his eyes and he gracefully yielded to be the anchor that tethered her in place and held her tighter. “Everyone’s safe. No one’s going anywhere.”

She jerked, but didn’t let go of him, as her mind reeled for the others. The ache in her chest bloomed with something else when she looked up the hall and they were there, huddled in the hallway with labored breath and in rumpled pajamas. Tears sprang at her eyes - they must have heard her and figured their world was ending…again. Lance readjusted his tense hold with Pidge on his back. They allowed one hand to break away from around Lance’s neck to scrub a shirt sleeve over their eyes and sniffed, Hunk gulped and gently ran his hand over Pidge’s shoulder, and Keith shuddered, his fingers still grasped tight around Lance’s elbow.

Her vision blurred. Her breath hiccuped when she looked back to Shiro. “Wh- _at_ do you do when your fantasies are too real?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 (parent|home) is only on a small delay, it will be uploaded later once it's finished.


	5. parent | home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU! unabashed no plot, all power couple fluff. this can also be read as a sequel to Adventures In Babysitting.

Their room was still relatively dark, just the comforting gray haze of dawn making everything seem closer - time slower. No determined rays of dawn wedged in the spaces between the blinds to illuminate the curtains to take him away from the edges between sleeping and awake. There wasn’t the piercing blare of an alarm, only the quiet, hazy lull where he could decide whether or not he’s ready to bring himself out of dreams and shuffle through the comforting motions of stretching and starting the first round of coffee, or -

If he wanted to stay blissfully wrapped in the duvet with her legs hooked over his.

Shiro adjusted his pillow and positioned his body where he’s fit next to her lithe and strong frame like a puzzle piece, her hair tickling his nose when he curled toward her. Carefully, his hand moves over to ghost her side, brushing the soft skin of her belly where her t-shirt had ridden up. She hummed when his calloused fingers flexed assuredly on her waist, reaching to pull his arm the rest of the way closer to tangle her fingers with his.

“That tickles.”

He could hear the sleepy smile in her voice. Shiro pressed the curl of his own smile to her shoulder in false apology and squeezed her hand. “That wasn’t my intention.”

She snorted, more a huff of air than anything, and craned her head back to look at him her, her eyebrow raising comically high on her forehead. “ _Oh_ , you had _intentions_.”

It took an avid effort to hold his eyes on hers when all he wanted was to let them wander over the line of her nose to the sharp angle of her jaw, to the crooked tilt of her smile and, especially, along the smooth column of her neck - to get lost in all that she was. “Not initially.” The corner of her mouth only curled further, disbelievingly. Shiro sat up, freed his other hand to brush the wild wisps of her hair away from her face, and pressed his mouth to her forehead.  “Maybe.”

“ _Very_ smooth,” Allura laughed. She turned over in his hold, her side completely pressed to his, and scooted closer until her knees bumped awkwardly into his and their legs became further entangled. She gently bumped her nose to his, the sleepy cunning of her smile stretched into a smile too stunning for him to handle anywhere near six a.m. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she studied his face; he felt somewhat embarrassed, his hair was guaranteed to be stuck up in several directions and the sheets had probably mapped lines across his cheeks. Yet, she laid there looking at him as if he was prefect, bed head and all, pressing her forehead to his until there wasn’t an inch of space between them. “Morning.”

Butterflies that never really left after their first meeting kicked up in his stomach.

“Good morning.” His voice came out more gravelly then he planned and when his breath ghosted over the sensitive spot on her jaw, she shivered. He chuckled. “Sorry.”

Allura huffed, poking his side. “No, you’re not.”

Shiro’s palms ran up her back as a more gratifying morning routine unfurled in his head, as great as coffee was - as vital as it was to bringing them back to the world of the living - it paled in comparison and quickly ( _gladly_ ) got set to the back burner. “You’re right, I’m not.”

They met in the middle, but he was pretty sure it was him that dipped toward her more. There was never a time when he didn’t share himself wholly with her, never passed up the opportunity to pour all that he was into any of their kisses - even the hurried, chaste press of his on her cheek when they fumbled out the door on their way work after silencing too many alarms and defiantly laying in bed longer than they meant to. Thankfully, that wasn’t today’s case. There wasn’t anything but her in his senses through their lazy rediscovery and he’s hit with just how enamored he was with her when awkwardly tried to pull back because _morning breath_ and she merely scoffed.

Just like always, she proved him wrong as she kissed back harder, shifting to have his chin dip down for better access, and the world melted away.

Allura trailed her fingers under the hem of his shirt, catching him off guard when she pressed her warm fingertips to the sensitive patch of skin on his stomach. He startled and gasped, his middle spasmed as he fought to catch his breath and simultaneously wrenching her fingers from his side. He broke their kiss, craning his back to laugh, her own laughter is just as full as his. Allura took the opportunity to bring him back into a kiss, changing the angle and pressing on his chest so he’s laying on his back. She moved fast to lean over him.

Shiro hummed against her mouth, the remnants of his laugh rumbling deep in his chest, making his voice breathy. “You’re cheating.”

She broke the second kiss. “I don’t _ever_ recall making rules, Takashi.” Allura moved her attention to his brow and trailed feather-light kisses to his temple, following the sharp curve of his cheek bone.  With her neck right by his face, Shiro could smell the ghost of perfume in the dip of her collarbone. He wrapped his arms around, cradling her to him, and sucked in a harsh breath when she stopped at the underside of his jaw to speak against the sensitive skin. “ _That’s_ cheating.”

He groaned, but didn’t take it as defeat - or even hated it.

In fact, the subtle, endearing thrum of playful competition only served to make him fall more in love with her - and he was in pretty damn deep to begin with. It was a point for her in an endless string of instances where the rules didn’t exist and the points never favored one over the other. It was only a matter of time before he interrupted the false sense of security in her victory with his own just retribution; or vice versa, depending on the day. She turned to nothing but soft curves and weak knees when the pads of his fingers followed the dip of her spine, occasionally veering off to work out the small knots in her muscles.

Allura slumped against him as he continued his work and kissed along her hair line. “Now _you’re_ cheating.”

A point for him when she didn’t fight back, but dragged the covers up over them from where they had pooled around their waists and tucked them closer and closer. He ignored the thin rays of light that creeped across the duvet, Shiro sighed and laid his hand to rest against the small of her back. Her breathing started to even back out as she drifted off and he can feel himself start to follow - their inhales and exhales moving in a symphony together. He wondered if she would still hear him if he tried again to express how much he loved her, because there’s no way she couldn’t hear the thundering of his heat under her cheek or feel the nervous twitch of his fingers at her elbow.  

Shiro took a steadying breath and kissed the top of her head. “Allura, yo-“

The front door creaked open, slamming shut second later as feet and grocery bags sloppily shuffled through their foyer as someone cheerily hollered up the staircase.

_“It’s us!”_

An exasperated sigh followed with, _“Us being Hunk and Keith, not intruders.”_

Shiro groaned and ducked under the edge of the blanket to press his forehead against hers. “ _Right_ , it’s Saturday.”

_“What do you mean? They know it’s us, besides what proper robber would announce their presence?”_

There was a pause in the conversation, enough time for Allura to sit up and look at Shiro as they silently mouthed, ‘Lance’ at the same time Keith and Hunk monotone, _“Lance.”_  She laughed and hid her face in the crook of Shiro’s neck, adjusting to draw lazy circles on his arm with her finger. “Hm, remind me again why this tradition marches on?”

He chuckled, hooking one of his legs with hers. “Well, you know how much they hate change.”

“Do you think we could convince them to invade our house at a later time?”

“It’s a long story, but we tried to change it and there was an incident. 7 a.m. is no longer debatable.”

Allura propped her chin on her elbow, shaking her head and exaggeratedly rolling her eyes up to the ceiling “A _travesty_.”

“It was, it took several years for Lance to let it go and not mention it every, single Saturday afterwards. So, if you ever do _anything_ for me, please don’t.” Shiro lifted the covers on his side and, carefully maneuvering Allura to the mattress, sat up. “Do you want the first shower or coffee?”

She fell back to the pillows, her groan muffled by the sheets. “Both?”

“That sounds like a fun challenge, but maybe tomorrow?” He smoothed her hair away from her face and pressed his lips to her temple.

Shiro pulled away, raising off the bed before long fingers and a strong grip encircled his elbow and clumsily yanked him backward onto the bed. He landed with a soft _whuff_ against the sheets, careful of his weight over her middle. _“Allura.”_

He turned over in her hold and huffed bemusedly at her satisfied grin.

“ _Or_ \- we stay right here, pretend we’re sick or something.” She doesn’t give him time to answer - slotting her mouth back over his with a short, happy tune in her hum.

Allura always had a way with compelling arguments and Shiro had never been a good liar, still wasn’t, but with her arms wrapped over his shoulders and pulling - shifting them deeper into the pillows and blankets - he was willing to give it the old college try. With effort, he was the one that broke the kiss, earning him a pinch on his side, to sweep more of her hair away from her face. “You take the first shower, I’ll make the coffee and keep the _children_ placated.”

She raised up to lazily kiss him once more on the mouth. “Have I mentioned you’re the best?”

* * *

By the time Shiro unwound himself from her arms and made his way down the stairs, their kitchen was in full takeover mode by Hunk and Keith and, at some point, Lance and Pidge, had stumbled through the door without him hearing, asleep at their chairs slumped together, sporting matching bed heads. 

Completely K.O.’d

Hunk turned from the stove to wave a spatula in greeting, that he returned on his way to the coffee pot. Keith halfway threw his hand over his shoulder without a word or looking away from whatever he was working on. 

Shiro snorted, “Good morning to you, little brother.” He moved onto the two haphazardly propped up at his table and cleared his throat, speaking louder this time. “Earth to Lance and Pidge?” He stepped closer to them, waving a hand in front of their faces. “Please tell me they didn’t drive here.”

Hunk turned from the stove, rolling his eyes. He pointed the spatula to emphasize his words. “Definitely _not_. They were in the car with us, Keith went back after them once we got the groceries in.”

_“How?”_

Keith finally turned from the stove, calmly raising his coffee cup to take a drink from it. “Ingenuity.” Shiro could just barely see past it to catch the corner of his mouth quirking up on one side over the coffee trip. “Two trips are for quitters.”

“Keith, I’m pretty sure that’s only supposed to be applicable to grocery bags.”

“Dude, you should have seen it - he had Pidge on his back and basically dragged Lance in by his legs like a dead body. It’s snapchat gold.”

Shiro watched Pidge shift in their seat, folding their knees up to their chest, and curl in toward Lance’s side. “So, what’d you do with them when you guys ran to the store?”

Hunk and Keith shared a look, shrugging their shoulders.  “Cracked the windows and hit the child safety lock.”

“Unbelievable.” He sighed, punching the buttons on the coffee pot and grabbing Allura’s favorite mug from the cupboard. “You know you’re really going to wind up hurting either yourself or someone else one of these days or just get loudly upset with each other and I really don’t want to have to explain to our neighbors - _again_ , might I add - that _no_ , we aren’t getting robbed or kidnapped.”

Keith scoffed, affronted. “Are you trying to _parent_ me?” 

“Morning!” Allura swept into the kitchen, waving once to everyone before she moved to press a quick kiss to the corner of Shiro’s mouth. “Shower’s free.”

“Coffee’s done.” He carefully proffered her cup, smiling. 

She took it from him and winked as she clinked it against his. “Teamwork.”

Hunk did his worst job at hiding the laughter that shook his frame and even Keith had leveled a look in their direction, his eyebrows disappearing into the fall of his bangs. Shiro rolled his eyes and reached to roughly scrub his hand through Keith’s hair, making it stick up in various directions.

“Would you-” He grabbed his brother’s hand, shoving it away and working in vain to fix Shiro’s handiwork.  “Seriously, we’re _adults_ , Shiro.”

 “Sorry, does that _irritate_ you?”

Hunk cleared his throat, cutting through whatever Keith had been about to say - if Shiro knew anything about Keith (and he did, an entire backlog of embarrassing behaviors and stories), it was most likely going to be a swear. “Hey, Allura. I’ll trade you one of my omelets for your French toast.”

She narrowed her eyes and set her cup down determinedly. _“You’re on.”_

* * *

 

 ***bonus nonsense:** Shiro going to jump in the shower and Lance waking up enough to situate Pidge so he can get up. Casually grabs a glass, slinks over to the fridge while Hunk, Allura, and Keith man the stove and discuss strategy and elements for The Best Omelet. Fills the glass with ice and oh boy, he’s totally gonna make it this time he’s great. 

he is, in fact, not great.

Allura’s elbow deep in cabinets searching out what she needs for the french toast and without turning around-

“Don’t _even_ think about it.”

Lance whining like a child. “You’re no fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> None of the oneshots posted here will be graphic, but there will be mentions and descriptors for some. Each prompt will have info and tags before, so please read safely!


End file.
